Chapter 16: Damballah
**Sister Mary Elizabeth**
Swinging the watering can, she approached the pump.
Above her the late afternoon heat of the Georgian sun blazed down, the humidity was high and the countryside was sticky with the damp.
Days where it was both muggy and hot made her glad the Mother Superior gave them permission to wear casual clothes, the habits got very, very hot in the heat of the south and the light cotton blouse she wore was much cooler against her skin.
Spying Beth in the shade entertaining Judith, Mary Elizabeth slowed and smiled. But the young woman's attention wasn't on her, but a form huddled just behind the pump, lanky legs pulled up effortlessly, boot heels dug into the ground.
Setting down the watering can, she shielded her eyes from the sun and found it was Mr. Grimes sitting there like a down and out old dog.
After the earlier excitement he had moved off on his own and nobody dared follow him.
Well, she wasn't put off by the man, if anything she was more drawn to helping him. It was what a decent Sister of the order did.
Grabbing her watering can and moving across the grass, she approached him, losing only a little courage as she get near, recalling how he did frighten her a little at times. How her heart would pick up speed at the sight of him, how her palms would sweat.
He carried himself much like a predatory animal, ready to bite and growl at anyone who threatened to harm him and his people.
Though, she wasn't much of a threat. The only people smaller than her at the convent was Annie and Judith.
Her daddy used to call her his little church mouse, because she was so small and shy.
Reaching Mr. Grimes and the pump, Sister Mary Elizabeth inhaled deeply, before squatting down beside him, eyeing his profile.
If he noticed her presence, he didn't say anything, just sat there quietly.
Sensing he wasn't in a talking mood, she flopped gracelessly onto her bottom and continued her quiet study of his face.
She'd imagine he was quite handsome before everything that happened to him, but it looked like the stress had aged him prematurely, his beardy scruff frosted with silver, his hair threaded with grey as well. The fine lines any man would have were beginning to deepen, most notably the worry lines of his forehead and by his mouth.
Looking down at the hand that dangled over his bent knee, she spied the youth that he once had. It only seemed to remain in his hands.
His blue eyes were on her, before his head even turned and Mary Elizabeth fought the urge to abandon her mission, drawing her mouth in a grim, set line and returning his gaze, before losing courage and turning her head to face the wall before them.
She imagined she could liken her mission to the mouse and the lion parable, but Mr. Grimes reminded her more of a wolf at the moment than a lion.
"I'm not crazy," he growled.
Mary Elizabeth drew her knees to her chest, maybe it was a form of protection, and maybe she was just trying to get comfortable, she wasn't sure. But maybe Mr. Grimes did scare her a little, but not because of his mental state, but because she didn't know how to comfort him.
"Sanity is relative to the situation," she offered softly.
"We can't rush into trust with people," he went on after heaving a weary sigh. "We can only trust us and our people. I can't lose any more of them."
Eyeing his hand, she wondered if she could take it, to give him comfort in some manner, but as her own hand began to shift, heading to take it, Rick shifted and she dropped her hand quickly back to her side.
"Us, used to be your people and ours," she reminded him. "We became stronger when we became a 'we'."
Rick was quiet.
"Allies are much better than enemies, aren't they?" She went on tentatively.
"Not all groups are soldiers and nuns," he returned darkly. "People are dangerous, vile men intent on watching the world burn."
"I've been thinking about that," she admitted softly, "about this new fellow and the lady and child who came with him. And, if he's so bad, then why do they care so much about him? They seem like good people, the woman and child, why would they be so loyal to a man who rapes and kills? He may come off as abrasive and loud mouthed, but…I believe they see good in him, something we don't because we're afraid or suspicious."
Rick was silent.
"As I recall Mr. Merle was the same way when he first woke up in the infirmary…but look at him now? He's taking an interest in people, helping us, protecting us. I know you and he don't care for one another, I don't fully understand that back story, but I think he's good and I think this new man could be good too. He doesn't have to stay, he seems to have no interest in staying, but he could be more help to us alive and an ally, then dead in ditch."
Mr. Grimes turned his blue eyes on her again.
"We just have to be cautious with him, until he's earned our trust, it's harder this way, but nothing worth doing is easy."
"No offence, Sister," Rick drawled. "But all that's coming out of your mouth are words. They mean nothing to me."
Mary Elizabeth blinked, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her cheek on the tops of her knees.
Rick gazed off, back towards the wall.
After the longest time, Rick cleared his throat. "I keep thinking about the garden hose back home."
Mary Elizabeth gave him her full attention.
"A day or two before I was shot, Lori asked me to fix the spigot, it was leaking, she was scared it was going to wash out her iris bed." He rubbed his eyes wearily with the heels of his hands. "I don't know why I keep thinking about it."
"Maybe because you don't like to leave things unfinished?" She suggested.
Sighing heavily, Rick shoved his hair back off his face and nodded. "Okay, we'll try mercy. But the next person or group that hurts mine, I will burn to the ground and salt the earth where they've walked."
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**Sister Mary Agnes**
He was lingering in the doorway to the kitchen as she mopped the floor quietly, head bent to her work.
Sister Mary Agnes knew full well Merle was standing there, but she chose to ignore him for the moment, finishing her work quietly and efficiently, before dropping the mop back into the bucket and looking up at him, wiping her hands on the heavy white canvas apron she wore over her casual clothes.
"Mr. Dixon, can I help you?" She eyed him.
"Tell me something, Sister," he began gruffly, setting the freshly skinned rabbits on the kitchen table. "What the hell did I do to deserve all this shit dumped upon me?"
She smiled serenely and set about making use of the meat, wiping the table off with a rag and calmly setting the rabbits onto the kitchen counter by the sink to slice up for dinner. Dipping her hands into the bucket of water she was planning on using for washing them and soaping up quietly. "By 'shit' I'm assuming you mean the responsibility of taking charge of the place while everyone is either gone or laid up in the infirmary?"
"I don't care about these people…much. I ain't no leader, personally there's about four of five of these assholes I'd like to kill myself," he went on, moving to hop up onto a kitchen counter.
"Yes you are and no there aren't," she stated. "You're just puffing up your chest, and believe me, Merle, I'm pretty sure you have no clue about the role you play these days."
"I have a good goddamned clue," he replied. "I just don't like where it's heading. Too much responsibility and you crack like ol' Rick."
"And not enough and you'd get resentful," she argued. "I know your type, Merle. You tell the world you hate it, before it can hate you first. You're afraid of forming attachments and fondness for people. But the fact of the matter is you have formed attachments here. And you know something? I think you're doing a good job of looking out for us so far. You kept your head about you today and I've never been prouder of anyone for not getting into an easy fight."
He snorted. "Yeah well, maybe I'm sick of fighting. Break my nose once more and I may not be as handsome as I am."
Mary Agnes beamed at his boyish grin and nodded. "Maybe you're tired of hating the world."
"Well," he replied, "I will say that little girl is full of spunk and I like her enough."
Smiling at her work, she didn't notice Merle move across the room until he was hauling himself up onto the counter beside her.
"And I like Carol, she's good as kin," he went on.
"And you like the Lieutenant," she added.
Merle was quiet for a moment. "Well, he's a dumb ass, but…my baby bro seems to idolize him for some stupid reason. So I guess…maybe I wouldn't kill him."
They fell into a companionable silence as she worked and he stewed over his inner turmoil.
"I like you," he admitted after a moment.
"I'm honoured I made the list," she replied with a small, cat-like grin flashed in his direction.
"You should be," he said, "it's a very short list."
She chuckled.
"So, I made you proud, huh?" He asked with a playful tone.
"Of course you did."
"Well, if that's not a solid start to winning your affections, I don't what would be," he stated.
Eyeing him, Mary Agnes decided he was teasing her. "Last I heard, Merle, you were chasing after Sister Joan. What happened? Thought a full figured older woman might be easier prey?" She joked.
"I like you better," he rasped in a rough whisper.
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**Sister Joan**
Taking her work on guard duty very seriously, she didn't miss a thing that moved within her field of vision, which was how she noticed the young Grimes boy moving up to stand beside her outside the infirmary door.
Sister Joan glanced his way, before returning her eyes to the convent lawns.
"I saw a deer this morning," she pointed out quietly. "I'm glad Merle didn't find her while he was out hunting."
Carl was quiet.
"I think sometimes even though we need the meat to survive, even the animals deserve to get away from near death. A chance at survival."
"You should have shot the deer," Carl replied evenly. "We could have used the meat."
"Kill everything and there'll be nothing left to hunt next year," she returned.
"Kill nothing and we die," he stated. "I don't really care for going hungry and I'm sure the others don't either."
"We kill enough to get by," she said.
Carl was silent again.
"When I was a little girl I saw a man die," she began. "I was riding my bike by a building that was being constructed and this man suddenly just dropped nearby. It was just that easy, like a sack of flour falling. Things like that linger with you."
"I shot my mom," Carl stated. "And I'd do it again if I had to with any one of you."
"Being hard these days is fine for survival, Carl," Joan said. "But being merciful and sensible can bear huge rewards."
"That's bullshit," Carl snarled. "God is a lie and your mercy is the stupidest thing I've ever heard of. Mercy makes you weak and I'd rather kill someone then watch another person die."
"We're not your enemies, though," she argued. "We're the closest you have to family."
"My dad and Judith are the closest I have to family!" Carl shouted. "And you're all just bringing us down with you! Everyone's fucking pathetic! My mom died because my dad was trying too hard to protect other people when he should have been protecting her!"
Joan spied Rick approaching and drew her mouth in a grim line, the man looked like he was about to finally snap the tether on his son.
"Carl," he called.
The young man turned to face him.
"I think we should talk."
Sister Joan nodded to Rick, as Carl stormed off, heading away from his father.
Rick stood for a moment, before storming after the boy.
"What do you figure?" Father O'Rourke called softly from the wall, squatting down to talk to her.
She moved towards it, still keeping an eye on the infirmary. "Rick'll talk some sense into him."
"Or I'll have to perform an exorcism," the priest added with a sly grin.
"Father!" She scolded with a grin.
"Hey, I could use the practice, Sister," he replied, pushing to his feet and walking off like a black cat prowling the stone barrier, gun slung over his shoulder like a soldier on patrol.
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**Sister Mary Claire**
"I don't think the Mother…I mean Grace would approve of this," she argued.
Up in the bell tower, the two men who should rightly be in the infirmary recuperating were seated among a treasure trove of guns, Daryl Dixon cleaning them calmly, the Lieutenant taking a cat nap propped up in a nest of camo netting and old army fatigues they had taken from the base during their raid.
"Why?" The youngest Mr. Dixon grunted. "We're not doing anything strenuous."
"Lieutenant," she tried reasoning with the soldier.
The man opened one eye and smirked. "Well, they're going to be mad at us anyways, Sister. May as well enjoy the fresh air while we're breaking rules."
"Besides," Daryl argued. "These guns have been sitting up here for weeks waiting to be cleaned and put into service, no one's taken the task, may as well do something useful."
Mary Claire had never fully understood men, she supposed it was because she was raised by a single mother before being put into that all girl's home, but still she was sure what they were doing was registered in their minds as wrong, so why couldn't they understand that they shouldn't be doing it?
"Why do you always make trouble for the Mother Superior, Lieutenant?" She asked.
"Because it stirs the demon within."
"If she comes back and finds you sunning yourself like a fat housecat—"
"Fat?" The Lieutenant demanded, mildly perturbed by her word choice. Patting his bare, trim stomach, he smirked. "That's pure military muscle."
"Naw, she's got a point, Fay, you do kind of look like a bloated, hairless cat lying over there in the sun." Daryl pointed out.
"Yeah?" The Cajun glanced down at his stomach. "Well, maybe a little bit…I'll do some yoga or something when I get a chance. Tone up a little, yeah?"
"You're both mocking me," Mary Claire stated.
"A little," the Lieutenant replied. "Come. Sit in the sun with me, Sister. It's kind of nice slobbing around like a lazy toad."
"You know something, Lieutenant, I swear you live just to torment the Mother Superior," Mary Claire stated, moving to stand at the railing of the bell tower to peer out across the distance of tree tops.
"Really?" He asked like a proud little boy. "Think she's noticed?"
"And what about Carol?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder at Daryl. "Think she might be a little disappointed?"
The scruffy man stopped and eyed her. "Carol knows I don't listen to reason," he said.
"That's right, he's a Dixon."
"Fuck you, dumb ass," the man growled.
"Love you too, brother."
Mary Claire stopped listening to the children argue as she spied the two women in question driving up the trail with the others. At least she hoped the others were there, she couldn't tell yet.
"You two better find a good hiding spot," she said. "Carol and the Mother Superior are back."
"Grace, beb, please," the Lieutenant corrected, pushing to his feet carefully, still moving like an old man.
Daryl moved to stand beside her too, watching the vehicle drive up.
"Don't look no fuller then when they left," he remarked.
"Come on, cabri," the Lieutenant said. "Best face the music, yeah?"
The Voodoo Dialect
Damballah - Damballah, or Damballah-Wedo, is the Great Serpent. He is also sometimes referred to as Da. He represents the ancestral knowledge of Voodoo, the pure faith. He is the sky-serpent, the wise and loving father. His main focus is on things that are pure, beautiful, and good. His color is white, and he is often symbolized by snake eggs. The ritual language of voodoo, which sounds much like a hissing snake, is derived from Damballah's own language. He responds to offers of pure white foods (cornmeal, olive oil, cake, champagne, white wine, milk, powdered sugar, eggs), and his ritual sacrifice is a pair of white chickens. He tries to explain to his devotee's that wisdom, knowledge, and understanding are the keys to happiness. He doesn't communicate well, as though his wisdom were too aloof for us. Dumballah does not communicate exact messages, but seems to radiate a comforting presence which sort of sends a general spirit of optimism into all people present.
Many lovely reviews, keeping this short! You're all lovely, beautiful human beings. Keep on being your wonderful selves, kiddos!